


Careful

by tiredRobin



Category: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018)
Genre: ADHD, Brotherly Love, Fake Science, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Not Beta Read, Tag Details in Notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 09:16:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26849536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiredRobin/pseuds/tiredRobin
Summary: Sleep doesn't come easy to a bunch of mutant turtles with ADHD. Donatello seeks to remedy that, but messes up a bit in the process. His brothers try to make him realize how stupid that was.
Relationships: Donatello & Leonardo & Michelangelo & Raphael (TMNT), NOCEST
Comments: 11
Kudos: 94





	Careful

**Author's Note:**

> not really sure how to tag it specifically so i'm just gonna make a general warning: donnie is not a Medicines Doctor as his area of expertise is primarily robotics and coding, not Making Medicines, so he fucks up a little bit with some sleep medication when trying to help himself and his bros. it's only once and he's fine, but be careful if that can be potentially triggering to you!
> 
> whats with me and writing fics about turts who can't sleep? well, see, the thing is, i can't sleep,

Donatello is not very good at notifying anyone when he plans on getting up to something potentially dangerous. Part of it is wanting to be secretive so as to better dazzle when he finally reveals something _new_ and _exciting_ that will once again turn his brothers' expectations of him on their heads. Another part of it is because someone always tries to stop him, or else they want to film it so they can use it to make fun of him later when—no, _if_ it ends up failing.

Which, Donatello will admit, happens more often than not. (And that's okay, because first attempts are learning experiences. Every attempt after that always fails a little less. That's how science works.)

And yeah, _maybe_ a small part of it is that it maybe doesn't always cross his mind to tell anyone else when he's about to do something possibly harmful. He gets tuned out a lot. He tunes them out a lot, too—he's pretty sure it's just what brothers do—so it's not like his "nerdy" ramblings are met with any more or less disregard than Mikey chattering on about different styles of paint, or Leo going on about his comics, or Raph discussing the latest drama on that online knitting group he's part of.

The point is he gets tuned out a lot, and even if he ever did remember to tell anyone, it isn't like there's a guarantee that they'd actually hear him. No positive reinforcement for a good habit means that, statistically, he's way less likely to actually develop the aforementioned good habit.

Which brings him to here and now, of course.

His head pounds, which is the first thing he's actually conscious of. It feels thick and heavy like there's cotton stuffed in his skull and blocking his ears; that second bit he only takes note of because there's some muffled voices, and he's going to assume that they aren't talking into pillows.

Well, they could be. He doesn't know. He hasn't opened his eyes yet to check.

Something like that feels like too great a hurdle, though, so Donatello decides that opening his eyes can wait. Instead, he focuses on himself, on the way his head pounds. God, that _hurts_. It's not quite a migraine, but he wouldn't be surprised if it became one. His mouth might also have been stuffed with cotton at some point, too, because it's dry as a desert. Everything feels so... heavy. If opening his eyelids is too large a task, the concept of moving is laughable.

Ugh. What _happened?_

"—o fish."

Oho, words! Er... almost. Awareness returns to him slowly and, with it, the voices gain some clarity. They're nearby and they're loud—too loud if his headache has anything to say about it, which it most certainly does. He can recognize his brothers’ voices all the same, and Donatello finds himself relaxing. Whatever happened, he's obviously safe.

... Probably safe. Think, Donnie, _think_. Has he pranked any of them too hard recently? His head still hurts too much to really focus on that for too long, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he woke up with marker on his face.

"Mikey, any threes?" Leo asks from nearby, the volume of his voice cutting through Donatello’s foggy thoughts. It’s muffled but coherent and he latches onto it immediately.

"Mh."

"Mikey."

A moment of silence, and then rustling. Donatello can feel movement nearby. "Helloooo? Earth to Michael?"

"Sorry, what?"

"Any threes?" Leo repeats, exasperation clear in his voice. Are they playing Go Fish? 

"Huh? Oh. Uh... yeah. Yeah, here."

Shuffling, and then another second of silence.

"You seem a little out of it, man," Raph says tentatively, confirming Donatello's suspicions that they're all... wherever they are. The lair, presumably. Unless they’re playing Go Fish on a roof.

The ground is too comfortable for a roof, though. 

"Sorry," Mikey mutters.

Another pause.

_Stop pausing,_ Donatello wants to say, but talking is on par with opening his eyes. He's stuck listening to silence interspersed with words until he can get up both the energy and motivation to move, he supposes. Urgh.

"I'm just worried," Mikey continues suddenly. "It's been, like... a really, really long time. Almost all day."

"He's still breathing," Leo says dismissively, but there's something wrong with the way he says it. A note of unease?

"It's not like we can just take him to a doctor," Raph replies.

"Oh! What about—"

"No vets, Mikey," Raph says, exasperated. "Leo's right, he's still breathing.” A short sound from Leo, but Raph keeps going. “His goggles didn't show anything mystic about... well, about him, so I don't think it's a curse or anything either, Leo."

"Laaaaame," Leo groans.

His goggles? Wait. Wait, they're talking about him, aren't they? Okay, headache or no, it's time to focus. They're worried about him, clearly, so something had to have happened, but they haven't had a confrontation with any fellow mutants or Yokai for a few days. Right? Or did he forget...?

No, no. Aside from his brain trying to batter its way out of his skull, he doesn't feel otherwise injured. There hasn't been a fight. If anything, Donatello feels distinctly like he's been hit by a—by—oh! That's right! He'd been messing with trying to make a sleep aid. It must have worked really well.

One might even say _too_ well.

Welp. No reason to keep his brothers waiting and worrying. He thinks they’re bickering now, Raph’s voice a little sharp, but he doesn’t bother tuning back into the conversation. Donatello musters all his energy to roll off his back and onto his side, and in the process he lets out an involuntary groan. The bed—and it is a bed, wonder of wonders, they hadn't just dumped him on the floor—shifts with his weight, and his brothers all fall silent. Donatello cracks open an eye.

"Donnie!" Mikey exclaims, and there's a rush of movement and then the sound of shell against flesh. His vision is way too blurry to make out whatever is going on, but from the sounds of it, Raph might have just saved Donatello from being tackled.

"Good morning, sleeping ugly," Leo drawls, and Donatello can make out his blurry form leaning closer. The bed moves with him, so they must be in Raph's bedroom—it’s the only place with a large enough mattress. "Nice of you to join us. Sorry to break it to you, bud, but no amount of sleep is gonna fix that mug'a'yours."

Donatello grunts in response. It’s a quip deserving of a bruising rejoinder but all his faculties are focused on getting him upright, so he doesn’t bother wasting energy on replying and instead focuses on pushing himself up onto his elbow. He squints open his other eye and waits for it to adjust to the lighting, taking in the blurry shapes of his brothers and the inarticulate red accents of his surroundings. Definitely Raph’s room, then.

Now that he's started moving, at least, it's getting a lot easier. He feels uncoordinated as he heaves himself upright, his legs more like logs. He manages it all the same.

Only, he would have gone sprawling right back over when his arm gives out under his weight if it wasn't for Leo catching him. "Woah," Leo says, and with his help Donatello is able to situate himself into a more stable sitting position. "Dude, you are _out_ of it."

"M'fine," Donatello mutters, and his words only stick a little to his mouth. It's still so dry. "Water?"

"Oh, uh—" Raph starts, only to be interrupted by Mikey's enthusiastic, "I got it!" 

A water bottle is shoved into Donatello's hands a moment later, and he takes a second to fumble with the cap before realizing that it's already been opened for him.

"Thanks," he says absently, and then takes a swig. More than a swig, actually. He probably sucks down half the water bottle in a second flat, holy _shell_ is he thirsty.

He’d probably have drunk it all if a large hand didn’t gently pull it away from his mouth, nearly spilling it down his front. “Slow down,” Raph instructs. “You can make yourself sick.”

Donatello is very reluctant to part with the bottle, but he’s pretty sure Raph is right. He releases it and uses his now free hands to rub his face, groaning again. 

“Donnie?” Mikey asks, and Donatello lifts his face to look at him. Towards him. Everything is still really blurry. Is he more messed up than he thought?

Wait. No, he took out his contacts, that’s right. Donatello is many things, but a fool is not one of them. One does not test an experimental sleep aid before removing one’s contacts.

“You good, man?” Mikey continues, and oh heck he’s so visibly _concerned,_ even though Donatello can’t exactly make out his expression. Just how long was he out?

Donatello doesn’t think saying that he feels like a pile of garbage is all that reassuring, so he settles instead for dry humor. "Ugh,” he grunts, scrubbing his cheek and then sitting a bit more upright. “What hit me?"

"That's what _we_ want to know!" Mikey explodes, throwing his arms into the air in clear agitation. Donatello winces both in surprise at the unexpected outburst and at the volume, reaching up to rub at the side of his head. Dry humor did not work. Got it. Mikey makes a visible effort to lower his voice, but the pitch climbs the more he talks. "You didn't come down for dinner, which isn’t too weird for you, but we even got your favorite and you weren't saying anything when I called so Raph went to go check on you, and then—"

"—Raph screamed like a baby!" Leo interrupts joyously, too loud.

"I did not!"

"Did too!"

Raph puffs up. "Did not!" he insists.

"Did too-oooo!"

"Guys," Donatello says.

Raph makes a noise like he wants to keep arguing, but he doesn't get the chance.

"So Mikey and I go running," Leo takes over like he hadn't just derailed, "because, uh, what the heck? You been keeping a puppet in your room or something?"

"I was only scared of _one_ puppet."

"Was?" Leo asks skeptically.

"Yes! I—"

"And we found you passed out on the floor!" Mikey nearly shouts. "And you wouldn't wake up! None of us knew what to do!" Donatello winces again. "Oh, sorry, Donnie."

"No, it's okay," Donatello tries for a smile, and he is pretty sure it does not turn into a grimace. Nice. Score one for Donnie. 

"No it ain't!" Raph says, clearly deciding this conversation is more important than defending himself from Leo's teasing. "Well, the—if you don't care about the yelling, that's fine, but finding you _passed out_ in your lab is _not_ okay, Don."

Ah. That's a fair argument, Donatello supposes. Aside from the headache, however, he's okay. That's… honestly one of the better side effects of a medication gone wrong. “How long?” he asks.

“Since last night, I dunno for sure,” Raph replies. Donatello just blinks at him. “Oh, right, uh. It’s three in the afternoon.”

Donatello twitches, eyes going wide. _“What?!”_

“Yeah, man.”

Leo leans in, close enough that Donatello can make out the expression on his face. There’s a tilt to his mouth that speaks concern, even as he still tries to cover it up with an easy attitude. "You good? And don't just say you're fine, D. What was that, huh? You knock yourself out slipping on a banana peel or somethin'?"

"I don't eat in my lab," Donatello defends immediately. it's a bit of a lie. Shelldon cleans up after him, though, so it's fine.

"So not the point, man."

Yeah, okay. "Well, uh." Hm. How does he explain it? He rubs the back of his head, glancing to the side as he mulls it over. His brothers just watch him expectantly, all with varying degrees of patience. Donatello can tell he's already starting to lose Leo.

Oh, that reminds him. He really should look into A.D.H.D meds for—

No. Focus. _Focus._ "Sooo, er. You know how sometimes we can't sleep?" He gestures vaguely and knows they get it, because it's a problem that plagues them all. Raph deals with it the least, he thinks, but Leo is just as bad—if not worse—than Donatello, and that's really saying something. He doesn’t wait for them to nod before continuing. "Well, I was thinking that human medications are often too much of a wild card for us, so maybe I could make something like a sleep aid?"

"A sleep aid?" Raph asks.

"Yes, like that liquid stuff that comes in bottles."

"Oh, I heard that stuff tastes _nasty._ ” Mikey’s too far to see, but Donatello bets he’s scrunching up his face.

"It's not supposed to taste good, it's supposed to put you to sleep," Donatello replies, squinting towards Mikey before giving up. Squinting doesn’t help his headache. “Anyone have my glasses?”

There’s some shuffling as Mikey climbs off Raph’s bed to go get them. He's gone and back in a flash, passing them off to Donatello and accepting the murmured, “Thank you,” with a peppy, “You’re welcome!”

"So you wanted help goin' to sleep," Leo says once everyone is resituated and Donatello has his glasses on. 

Donatello is momentarily stunned into silence. Leo, keeping them on track? Unheard of.

He blinks out of his reverie a moment later. Best not to waste this rare moment of Leo-keeping-them-on-track. "I wanted to help _all_ of us, thank you very much. But, yes. I thought if I combined turtle medication knowledge with human medication, I could make something that'd help us sleep." There, he pauses, grinning sheepishly. "Using, uh... a tranquilizer as a, er... chemical base, so to speak, was maybe not my most intelligent idea."

"You _tranq'd yourself?"_ Mikey exclaims.

"You used a _tranquilizer_ to make _sleep medication?"_ Raph asks, visibly appalled. Leo’s eyes have gone wide.

"Not an actual tranquilizer!" Donatello rushes to reassure. "I just—used the, the _measurements—"_ Mikey and Raph still look mildly horrified, and Leo's expression of morbid fascination hasn't yet disappeared, _“—sort of,_ with some modifications! I just thought if I scaled up some ratios, down some others, implemented a more slow-release sort of thing, it'd be fine, but... er. Clearly I miscalculated."

Silence meets his words.

"A bit," he amends, because. Well. Mistakes being part of science doesn't necessarily mean he's good at accepting when he's made one around other people. That's embarrassing. Donatello doesn't do embarrassing.

"Dude," Leo says, breaking the silence. He looks uncharacteristically serious, and that more than anything makes Donatello straighten his shoulders a bit. "I'm no... medicines doctor, or whatever—"

"Pharmaceutical scientist," Donatello corrects automatically.

_"—Whatever,"_ Leo stresses in annoyance, "but can't something like that, y'know..."

"Kill you?" Raph finishes.

Mikey looks stricken. "What?" he asks, voice a little small. It causes Donatello's chest to tighten with guilt. "You mean that—that can...?"

Donatello sighs and squeezes the ridge between his eyes, pushing up his glasses in the process, and then slumps forward to rest his elbows on his folded legs. "Yeah. Yeah, they're right, buddy," he mutters.

And now Mikey looks like he's going to cry.

Ugh. _Ugh._ This is _so_ not how Donatello wanted this to go. He wasn’t expecting it to go exactly _right,_ sure, but he didn’t think it’d knock him out for most of a day! And he really didn’t expect anyone to find out about it like this. It was just supposed to be a small thing. Leo would joke about him trying to poison them, probably, but then he’d try it and it’d work and no one would say thank you, but they’d still appreciate it! 

He didn’t want… _this!_

Alas, the ship has sailed, and he’s on board. Nothing else to do about it. He needs to wipe that expression off Mikey’s face first and foremost, and they’ll take it from there.

“I promise I was careful,” Donatello reassures, making himself sound as firm as he can manage. “Obviously I know how dangerous it can be. I would never take anything I'd think might _kill_ me. I knew it was safe.” He follows up with a smile, hoping it looks as genuine as he needs it to.

Mikey does not look reassured. “But you were out _all day,”_ he insists. “You were on the ground.”

Donatello cringes before he can stop himself. That’s right; Mikey had said something to that effect earlier, hadn’t he? Donatello hadn’t even made it to his bed? “It just… hit a little harder than I thought it might.”

_“Donnie,”_ Mikey says.

“That doesn’t really strike me as knowing for sure it’s safe,” Leo comments with a deceiving idleness.

Donatello can’t meet anyone’s eyes on the best of days, and this is not definitely not a “best of days” day. His gaze slides to the side, landing somewhere next to Raph’s folded knee. Shame and embarrassment flushes his cheeks.

“You really freaked us out, buddy,” Raph says, soft voice breaking through the awkward quiet, and Donatello winces. “Why didn’t you tell anyone you were messing with this kinda stuff? We coulda, I dunno. Helped? Made sure you didn’t pass out on your lab floor?”

Blooming from the shame comes something like indignation, although without fire. “It’s not like any of you would have listened,” he mutters, and then bites his lip. Shell. That isn’t what he wanted to say at all. 

“Excuse you!” Leo gasps, offended (Donatello thinks. It’s hard to tell when Leo’s joking, sometimes) and he inhales to say more, but Raph reaches out and places a hand on Leo’s arm. Though nothing is said, Leo deflates with an exhale.

“That’s not fair, Donnie,” Raph says. “I know we aren’t the best at listening, but—”

“You try, I know,” Donatello interrupts, because he does know. They’re all a bit scatterbrained and none of them, himself included, always make time for the others. But they try. He knows this. “Sorry, that’s not—I don’t really mean that. I just wanted to surprise you guys with it, I guess.” He huffs an embarrassed laugh.

No one speaks for a good moment—long enough that Donatello sort of wants to leave and go glug some coffee to help with his headache, and then retreat to his lab. He doesn’t do that, though. Maybe he can’t always read the room, but he’s pretty sure they wouldn’t take to that too well.

“It’s cool that you were tryin’a help us sleep,” Leo says finally. “But, uh, maybe be a little more careful next time? Or, heck, this is just an idea, but—maybe don’t have a next time?”

Donatello’s shame is replaced so quickly with incredulity he almost gets whiplash from it. “What? No, I was—I was so close, though! The fact that all it did was knock me out is a good step—I don’t feel any side effects other than a headache, which is likely from dehydration—”

“Or from _tranquilizing yourself,”_ Mikey interrupts loudly. Donatello’s jaw snaps shut. “Remember when you tranq’d me? I wasn’t even out that long and my head hurt real bad after I woke up.”

Donatello starts to protest, but he’s cut off again, this time by Raphael.

“Donnie, seriously,” Raph says. “I get you wanna help, and that’s real great of you, but we… I don’t think…” He pauses, expression twisting as he struggles to find the words.

“Remember when Splinter had me try that sleep stuff for _ever_ ago?” Leo asks. “I almost bur… bru… brum…”

“Brumated,” Donatello says. He does remember. Leo had been sick with a bad case of the flu in the middle of winter, and this was before they had proper insulation in the sewers. The chill had been getting to all of them. Splinter, desperate to help his son sleep, had tried some sort of human cold and flu medication on Leo. It certainly did its job—and nearly killed Leo in the process. Brumation can be dangerous if the turtle isn’t prepared for it, and _especially_ so if the turtle is unhealthy. It’d been terrifying when Leo wouldn’t wake up.

The memory makes Donatello pause. He’d been so scared, back then. He remembers wondering if he’d have to go the rest of his life without Leonardo in it. That cold terror hadn’t left him for years—every time Leo got sick, Donatello found himself unreasonably stressed about it. 

He looks down at his hands. Is that how they felt when he didn’t wake up? Scared?

“Yeah, that! That sucked. I mean, I barely remember it, but whatever. Point is, dude, sleeping medication doesn’t really work for us.”

“But it could,” Donatello says. It doesn’t come out as insistent as he wants it to.

“Okay, sure, yeah, I bet it could? I bet you could make something if you really studied the stuff for a few years. You’re the resident genius, my guy. But as it stands,” and Leo pauses here. It takes Donatello a moment to realize that Leo probably wants Donatello to look at him, so he does. Leo still looks unnervingly serious. “We’re okay. Sure, yeah, not being able to sleep sucks, but I would rather not sleep than, and excuse me for being a little dramatic, lose my twin.”

Donatello turns his gaze back down to his hands, knotting his fingers together. He still wants to protest, still wants to insist that he can do it, but a sensation of discomfort has lodged itself in his throat and he’s not sure he can talk around it.

Maybe… they have a point. Donatello is no pharmaceutical scientist. His speciality is in machines, in strings of code, not biological and chemical science. He knows that all medications go through dozens—if not hundreds—of trials before anyone actually gets to use them. He’d ignored the warnings all the same, so confident that he could do it, so sure he’d be fine.

So much for that.

When he peeks back at his brothers, they’re all still watching him. Leo looks expectant, Mikey worried, and Donatello can’t really figure out the expression on Raph’s face. But he gets the message loud and clear all the same.

_You really scared us._

“There won’t be a next time,” he agrees, slow and reluctant.

The tension in the room breaks immediately, Leo and Mikey releasing twin gusts of air in relief. Raph slumps heavily. “Thank goodness,” he exhales. “I’m not sure I can handle another heart attack.”

“Can I hug you now?” Mikey asks, already scooted mostly across Raph’s bed. 

Donatello rolls his eyes and nods. He barely gets his arms open before Mikey throws himself against his chest, nearly knocking the both of them over. Mikey squeezes hard and Donatello grunts, reflexively going to shove him off before stopping himself. Instead, he settles his arms around Mikey’s shoulders. 

It takes a few tries, but, “Sorry for scaring you,” he says haltingly. Being genuine about feelings is tough.

“I’m just glad you’re not in a coma anymore,” Leo says, patting his shoulder and then leaning away. Donatello watches with mild interest as Leo reaches for some scattered cards, scooping them up and fanning them out before him. His face scrunches up for half a second and then he gasps, long and hard, and jabs a finger accusingly at—at Donatello? “Miguel, you dog!” he says loudly. Not at Donatello, then. “You _lair!_ You have two fives!”

Mikey jerks somewhat in Donatello’s arms before pressing himself closer. “Nope! Can’t get mad at me, I’m hugging our not-dead brother!”

Leo moves like he’s about to rip Mikey from Donatello’s arms, but he’s stopped by Raph, who looks exasperated. “We were both cheating, Leo, calm down,” he says.

_”What?!”_

The two quickly devolve into bickering, and Donatello can’t stop a smile from climbing onto his face. “I’ve taught you well,” he informs Mikey plainly, earning him a snort. He gets a pillow to his face (courtesy of Leo) for his pride.

They don’t play Go Fish after that. Leo, still indignant over the fact that he was being cheated, ends up making a dramatic exit from Raph’s room. Donatello follows not long after, seeking caffeine to alleviate his still-throbbing head, and Mikey follows close enough that even Donatello gets the impression that Mikey doesn’t really want to leave him alone. For lack of anything else to do—and keeping Mikey’s clinginess in mind—Donatello suggests a Jupiter Jim marathon to pass the remainder of the day.

Plans for the marathon quickly turn into plans for a television room sleepover. In less than an hour, they have nearly a dozen different blankets piled on the floor to make a nest. Mikey suggests a blanket fort at least four times. Donatello eventually relents and helps him set one up, and Leo goes out of his way to make it more difficult even as he insists that he’s “helping”.

Raph orders pizza. Leo makes everyone tea. The fort is barely big enough for all of them but, when teamed up together, Donatello and Michelangelo are master architects, and it holds strong even when Raph’s spikes nearly rip half it down.

Two hours after waking up, Donatello is settled back down in a cozy nest of blankets, a Jupiter Jim show playing quietly on the projector. He is, unsurprisingly, not the least bit tired, and spends the majority of the evening on his tablet, picking away at various blueprints and sporadically moving all his sleep aid research and notes into a folder file designated for unsuccessful projects. Conversation rises and lapses among them much like the waves of the ocean, drifting further and further still into longer silences as the day draws to a close.

It’s two in the morning when Donatello finally recognizes the passage of time as a thing that exists. He sets the tablet down and looks to his right.

A pair of sleepy eyes meet his. Leo quirks a tired smile at him; he’s laying on his stomach, chin propped by his arms, and the glow of the projector manages to make him look even more tired than usual. Beside him, head pillowed in his arms, Raphael snores away. Between Donatello and Leo, Mickey dozes on his back, a blanket bundled beneath his head and halfway pulled across his chest.

Donatello knows that if Leo is awake now, he’ll probably be awake for another few hours. He knows that Mikey won’t be able to stay asleep whether the projector is on or off—that he habitually wakes up several times a night, whether or not he intends to. Raph is dead to the world now, but there’s been more times than Donatello can count where he’s stepped from his room before the day has begun to find Raph very much awake when, by all rights, he should be in bed.

Donatello finds himself thinking about shared sleepless nights; some like this, and so many that were not. He thinks about sleepytime teas that don’t work, about empty melatonin bottles, about glasses of warm milk mixed with cinnamon and honey. 

He thinks about the failed sleep aid still waiting in his lab. He thinks about mistakes made when people are tired—injuries that could have been avoided, arguments that would never have happened, emotions that wouldn’t be as hard to reign in. He thinks about how he could help if he just kept trying. 

He looks at them, and he thinks about himself, seven years old on a cold winter night, wondering if his brother will ever wake up.

Maybe he could help with the sleep aid. Maybe there’s something he could do with it, if he just kept trying. But maybe the risk is too high. Maybe he messes up so bad that he never wakes up, and his brothers are left minus one.

Maybe, instead, there are other solutions.

(And maybe it’s okay if he can’t find one.)

Donatello turns off his tablet. He shifts carefully around, trying not to jostle Mikey, until his position mirrors Leo’s. He doesn’t feel tired enough to sleep, but he doesn’t mind it too much tonight.

The sleep aid he’ll dispose of tomorrow. Donatello can find some other way to help. He might even work on letting them know if he wants to do something a little dangerous, because he doesn’t really want to scare them like this again. They’ll listen if it matters, he reminds himself. They listen when it matters.

**Author's Note:**

> YEAH the ending is weak NO i don't care i'm just here to have FUN, THANKS.
> 
> are there several holes in this? yeah. is there like… any scientific logic to this? no, and that pains me greatly, but there are prices that must be paid when u wanna be self-indulgent. which is what this is. self indulgence. enjoy.
> 
> leave a comment if you feel like it. i didn't reread this more than once as a cursory check for mistakes, so if there are mistakes... whatever, bro.


End file.
